Say It Two Ways
by bipping
Summary: Spamano oneshot. Lovino is forced into lunchtime Spanish tutoring sessions. He just didn't expect to fall in love with his tutor, and he most certainly didn't expect to want to tell him how he felt. He wants to tell him; the question is how?


Say It Two Ways

Author's Note:

So, I spent all of today reading fanfiction, most of it belonging to others, but my sister did allow me to read some of my own to her. By doing that I learnt:

a) nothing I write has a happy ending (Little Bird Reprose actually made her cry, and her mascara was running and I felt like such a bad person)

b) whenever I write romance, it's just cute, and talks about feelings. I never really talk about the, well, physical side of anything, which, in all honesty, is probably because I've never really experience the more physical side of romance myself (it took my ex until November to work up the nerve to kiss me, and we'd been going out since February. So yeah, I have no clue what it's like to go out with someone who actually wants your company... This dude wasn't even that keen on holding my hand), and I wouldn't really know what to write about.

However, I've learnt a lot from reading, and thought that it was about time I experimented. And who better to experiment on than Spamano, the pairing I love so much but have written so little for?

Hetalia doesn't belong to me. I would type who it belongs to, but auto-correct hates his name, and it'll take me all night. Google it if you don't already know.

Apologies for spelling and grammar; uploading from my phone and stuff.

* * *

><p>If you thought about it, Spanish was like a stupider, misspelled, less refined version of Italian.<p>

The majority of the words were similar in roots, and a lot of them sounded familiar.

They might be pronounced differently, but they sounded similar.

Or, to be more exact, Spanish sounded like someone was trying to speak Italian, but was failing quite miserably.

At least, that's what Lovino Vargas thought.

As if it wasn't hard enough being bilingual, he had to deal with failing to speak a language that was so much like his own, because his Spanish always came out as a garbled mess of Italian, with a few Spanish words thrown in there.

He'd been raised with both the Italian and the English language, and had assumed that when the time came to chose his GCSE's, Italian would be an option. Because opting to take exams in a language you already spoke fluently was the greatest idea ever. The subject would require very little work on his behalf, and he'd pass it with flying colours.

Of course, they had taken Italian off of his options list, due to lack of interest.

And then, two years later, when it was his brother's turn to chose his options, they'd put it back on. And the little bastard had taken Italian, along with Art, Catering, and German.

That pissed Lovino off.

His grandpa had told him he needed to take a language, so Lovino was stuck with his chosen subjects of Art, Catering, History, Business Studies and Spanish.

All of which, needless to say, he was currently failing.

His brother, his little brother, who, at two years his junior, had only been doing his GCSE choices for half a year, was already getting better grades than him.

Lovino really didn't like that.

He was in Year Eleven; he was about to sit the majority of his exams, and he really did not need the knowledge that his brother was doing better than him to lurk in the back of his mind as he did.

So he sat there, fifth block on a Friday, last lesson before the weekend, listening to his teacher lecture them on pulling their act together.

"You sit your exams soon!" she yelled. "You should all be far more concerned with that than the idle chat you constantly go on about!"

He drummed his pen against the table.

She shook her head, then explained to them all that they were going to sit a past paper.

It was a reading paper.

God, Lovino would be a lot more considerate of dyslexic people from now on.

The harder be looked at the paper, the more he was sure that someone was just misspelling Italian words. He could only pick out a few words that he recognised due to their similarities to Italian, and tried to make sense of the paper from there.

The paper was out of forty-two.

Anything above thirty-one was an A*

Anything above twenty-six was an A

Above twenty-three was a B

Above nineteen a C

And the entire class chuckled as the last person to read out their results, due to having the misfortune of a surname ending in V, received his well deserved D for his total of 13

Lovino felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

The teacher smiled sadly at him.

The bell rang. She asked Lovino and the student who had scored highest on the mock to stay behind.

Needless to say, the student who scored highest on the mock was bilingual too.

And he had scored the full forty-two marks.

But that was down to his Spanish mother, and year spent living abroad, of course.

The teacher looked at them both before saying, "I know the two of you have had your disagreements in the past, but Lovino, your exams are in a few months, can you really not see how beneficial a tutor would be?"

Lovino scowled and folded his arms. "I don't need a tutor."

The other boy chuckled, "Lovi, I-"

"Don't call me that, bastard!" he hissed protectively, recoiling like a cat.

The teacher shook her head. "Lovino, I give up. You din't have any choice anymore. You are going to come back to this classroom every lunchtime and either myself of Antonio will tutor you for half an hour. I trust you are alright with giving up your lunchtime to help a fellow student, Antonio?"

The Spaniard nodded cheerfully. "Anything, Miss, anything for Lovi!"

"Stop calling me that!" his scowl deepened as he spat it at the boy, who was then dismissed from the room.

The teacher shook her head. "You're a B-grade student Lovino, and you are going to be tutored until you are at that level."

...

Lovino soon found he hated the phrase "say it two ways" than he did any other phrase ever, in existence.

His hatred of the phrase was, of course, due to the fact that, other than being a gorgeous Spanish bastard, Antonio was a remarkably good teacher.

It was Antonio who took him for his tutoring sessions the majority of the time, due to their teacher claiming her responsibility was to the whole school, and not just one student, and Antonio had come up with the most remarkable teaching method ever.

It had to be remarkable; Lovino was actually learning Spanish from it.

It would go like this.

"Lovi, what's this?"

"That's a table, bastard."

"¡Si! It's a table!"

"Yeah, it is, don't fucking wet yourself over it."

"What would you call it in Italian, Lovi?"

"La tabella."

"That's a funny word."

"Shut up bastard! No it's not! It's far fucking better than whatever shitty Spanish word you've got for me."

"Okay, Lovi, it's not funny, it's just Italian."

"What the fuck is that meant to mean?"

"Nothing Lovi... ¿Cómo se dice "la tabella" en español?"

"How the fuck am I meant to know?"

"La mesa. Say it two ways, Lovino."

[Here, Lovino would often scowl at the phrase he hated hearing, then roll his eyes and sigh]

"¿En italiano?"

"La tabella."

"¿En español?"

"La mesa."

"¡Muy bien Lovi! Now do it again! Say it two ways!"

And it would continue like this, again and again, until eventually, instead of asking him to say it two ways, Antonio would just yell the Spanish word at him, and Lovino would instantly reply with the Italian.

Occasionally, Antonio would mix things up and yell the Italian word at him, and Lovino's instinct would kick in and he'd reply with the Spanish.

But the point was, he was learning.

And, more importantly, he realised he was falling in love with his tutor.

Which, once again, pissed him off.

He didn't mean to get taken in by that ever present carefree smile, or by those deep green eyes, or by the Spaniard's scruffy curls.

He didn't want to like the laid-back manner he wore his uniform in, a manner which would occasionally result in Lovino seeing the tiniest amount of the older boys tanned chest; a chest that had certainly benefited from his love of football.

He didn't need to find his accent seducing, because that really put him off the whole "saying it two ways" thing.

And the bastard was a total idiot! Lovino didn't like him at all! He tolerated him.

But, one particularly warm, sunny lunchtime, he decided that teaching him Spanish was not the only thing he could... tolerate... Antonio doing.

"So you see Lovi? That makes it easier to turn things into the future tense! You simply say "voy a" and then the non-con-"

Antonio had lifted his head from the textbook to face the Italian, only to find him pressing his lips against them.

Antonio felt himself smile. How many times had he thought about this? How many times had he woken up wet and sticky after-

This may have happened to him many times in dreams, but this time, he was not dreaming.

He was aware of that, because, if he were dreaming, Lovino would have shed his clothes by now.

So, while he could taste the impulse and passion behind Lovino's action, he decided to deepen it with his longing, with his need, with his own passion.

He reached up, and combed his fingers through his hair, then let his tongue move slowly along Lovino's lips, hoping he'd part them and allow him entrance.

Unfortunately, real-life Lovino was not like the Lovino of his fantasies, and happened to be very, very stubborn.

So Antonio used the brain most people thought was inexistent, and yanked harshly on that one curled strand of hair the Italian was always so careful with.

Lovino felt his eyes fly wide open, and his lips part with a gasp, and then the next thing he knew Antonio seemed desperate to choke him on his tongue.

He wanted to push the greedy bastard away, but all he could do was bask in how good it felt.

His hands gripped Antonio's shirt, his eyes closed, and he heard himself moan slightly, before sneaking his own tongue into Antonio's mouth.

Lovino had never done anything like this before.

He knew that, as a member of the school's notorious Bad Touch trio, Antonio had probably done much, much more.

He also knew that he needed to breathe, hence why he pushed the Spaniard away, leaving him pouting and yet smiling at the same time.

"Wow Lovi," he chuckled, blinking at him. "I never realised you were so excited by the thought of conjugating verbs."

Lovino scowled, folding his arms, coming to terms with what he'd just done.

He didn't know why he'd done it.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to do it or anything... He just didn't expect himself to be so stupid, and so impulsive and-

"Aww, Lovi, you're blushing!" cooed Antonio. "You look so cute! Like a little red tomato!"

"Sh-shut up..." Lovino growled quietly.

Antonio swallowed, looking at the pure picture of adorableness, unsure as what had caused the Italian's outburst of emotion, but sure that he had enjoyed it.

Because, in all honesty, Antonio had had a small crush [read: borderline obsession] on Lovino since the day he'd met him.

He'd never thought it possible, but what had taken place only moments ago clearly proved Lovino felt the same way.

He'd wanted to make some sort of relationship with the Italian for so long. He had wanted to say so much to the Italian for so long. He been waiting for the right moment for so long.

And Lovino had just given him the right moment.

"You know Lovi," he began, smiling slightly bashfully, "I've wanted to kiss you for a hell of a long time; I just always thought I'd be the one to make the first move."

Lovino couldn't bring himself to meet those orbs of green that the stupid tomato bastard he had just kissed liked to pretend were eyes.

Because it was all sinking in now.

One stupid, reckless moment was gonna have a hell of a lot of consequences.

Antonio leaned closer to the Italian, and spoke so low his voice was barely more than the wind. "I've wanted to tell you for so long Lovino," he whispered directly into his ear, causing the Italian to shudder slightly at the use of his full name,"that I... Well... Te amo, mi tomatito. I think, no, I know, and I have known for years, that I am in love with you."

The Spanaird leaned back into his seat, watching Lovino very closely for his reaction.

Gaze unmoving, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, knuckles going white with how strongly he was gripping the chair beneath him, Lovino somehow found the strength to say shakily,"A-and I... I think... M-maybe... I-i-it's no-not fucking im-impossible that... That I... L-lov-"

"Nope."

Lovino's head snapped up, his amber eyes finally looking with the Spaniard's intense emerald gaze. "Nope?"

"Nope." Antonio smiled slyly. "Say it two ways, Lovino."

"I- what?"

Antonio moved his chair closer to Lovino's, and repeated, "Say it two ways."

Lovino shook his head. "Fuck no! You are not playing with me, bastard! You are-"

"Lovino." Antonio's voice seemed darker. He grabbed the Italian's wrist and somehow pulled him onto his lap, whilst stating commandingly. "Say it. Two. Ways."

Sat on the Spaniard's lap, and with him speaking with such authority, Lovino could safely say he had never felt so aroused.

And he wasn't doing the world's best job of hiding it.

Antonio wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, and began peppering his neck with kisses, starting at the nape of his neck, and working his way up to the Italian's ear, where he breathed, "¿En italiano?"

He heard Lovino choke out, "T-ti amo..."

"¿Y en español?"

Lovino swallowed, desperately trying to work his way around the lump forming in his throat. "Te... Te amo."

Antonio chuckled. "Oh, mi tomatito... I don't think we're going to have to worry about you failing Spanish anymore..."

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><p>Extended an:

I feel like I should apologise about the ridiculously long a/n, and the shameful amount I revealed about my life, but whatever, I don't care. It's not like I know any of you, and if you're gonna be reading my writing, you might as well know where my inspiration comes from.

Oh, and you might as well understand that nothing I write comes from experience. Hence why it isn't that amazing.

I must admit, I am a little bit amazed with myself for writing this though. Mainly because it just seems so... different to all my other oneshots. Where's the unhappy ending? And the deep meaningful conversations?

Feel free to review and stuff; it's insanely awesome when I get an email thing.

Now; I DID IT! I UPLOADED ANOTHER SPAMANO ONESHOT!

I didn't think I had it in me, but oh my Gosh, I totally did.

On an unrelated note; I was watching Cloverfield yesterday, when it suddenly hit me how awesome it would be to write that sort of thing as a fanfiction. Of course it, would have to be written as an audio transcript, which meant it would literally be dialogue, constant dialogue, with brief descriptions of each character's voice, but I reckon it would be pretty fun to write. I mean, I'd probably have to finish some of my other stories first, as well as obtain the use of a laptop, but would any of you read something like that?

If any of my Spanish or Italian is wrong, let me know. Oh, and bear with me, because I translated it all myself, so I've probably spelt stuff wrong. I'm pretty sure it's all self-explanatory, but if it's unclear what something means, there ate two options available to you:

a) leave me a review and I will attempt to message you back with the translation

b) Google translate


End file.
